


Mind Games

by AirgiodSLV



Category: The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-03-25
Updated: 2005-03-25
Packaged: 2019-07-20 10:43:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16135595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AirgiodSLV/pseuds/AirgiodSLV
Summary: “Stop trying to win,” Elijah breathes, and this time his eyes do close, just for a second.





	Mind Games

**Author's Note:**

> Content/Warnings: Humiliation, bondage, s/D.

Elijah has been laid out like a feast, arranged perfectly for someone else’s pleasure, quiet and complacent. He’s whimpered once, when the thick length of Orlando’s cock slid into him, between his legs and inside, but nothing since then. Orlando had warned him to be quiet. And Elijah is not a fool.

“Yes,” Orlando whispers, sliding in controlled motions, weight balanced on his knees with Elijah’s legs on either side of him, slender hips raised and cradled in Orlando’s hands. “Good.”

Elijah’s face stains pink with the praise, but it isn’t pleasure or pride; he blushes with shame, and Orlando smiles to see it, lips stretched wide and teeth bared.

“Come on,” he almost urges, but checks himself before he speaks, biting back the words, smile disappearing as he grunts and thrusts further. He lays his hand on Elijah’s stomach, low on his abdomen but not touching his rigid cock, and presses gently.

“Do you feel me inside you?” he asks, and Elijah’s eyes try to close, flutter and avoid, but Orlando won’t let him go that easily. “Look at me, Elijah. _I_ feel me inside you.” He presses harder, curls his fingers as if he can actually curve his palm around his cock and stroke, as it moves achingly slowly inside of Elijah’s body.

Elijah whimpers, the second sound, and Orlando thrills to the slip but doesn’t let it show, still moving with deliberate thoroughness back and forth, back and forth. “You’re nothing but this,” Orlando whispers, and Elijah’s eyes flash but it’s a nova, bright burst of passion that fades so quickly it’s almost imagined, died-out flame turned to ash. “You’re nothing without this.”

“Stop it,” Elijah whispers, and his muscles tense but don’t shift, need without intent or impetus, motion without direction. He hasn’t got anywhere to go, anyway. His hands are bound beneath him, at the small of his back, wrists tied with clever oriental knots, lacings that run in criss-crossing patterns all the way up his forearms. He can’t move unless Orlando lets him.

“Stop what?” Orlando asks, and his teeth flash again, almost mockery, too sweet-sincere to be real.

“Stop trying to win,” Elijah breathes, and this time his eyes do close, just for a second, just until Orlando lifts Elijah’s hips casually another inch and stabs deep, forcing out the gasp. “I won’t let you,” Elijah says, but he’s begging now, and that means he’s close to giving in.

“You’re wrong,” Orlando whispers softly, too soft, eyes hooded and lashes fanned, soft and sooty. “I’ve already won.”

Elijah makes a noise in his throat, protest, but Orlando’s cock slides deep again, and Elijah’s face turns blindly into the pillow, seeking solace before remembering himself and turning back, eyes opening to stare pleasure-blind up at Orlando.

“Say it, Elijah,” Orlando croons, and this is the knife-edge, the one he loves walking on, the precipice Elijah asks to be dangled over every time.

“I –” Elijah begins, but it’s choked off when Orlando thrusts _hard,_ cutting across the words.

“Not that. The other.” Orlando lets his eyes droop again as pleasure washes over him in waves, Elijah contracting around him helplessly as Orlando directs, bending him and taking. “Say it.”

“Please,” Elijah whispers, and then moans low in his throat when Orlando shakes his head and forces Elijah’s hips higher, until his back is no longer on the bed and his arms are stretched painfully against the joint, pushing down against the mattress for support as Orlando shifts his weight.

“Wrong again. Nice, but you can do better. Say it, Elijah. Tell me.” His tone is more breathless now, Elijah’s weight across his lap and the spasmic clenching of Elijah’s muscles threatening to undo his control. Which is what Elijah is hoping for, he knows. In the end, Elijah always tries to find some way to escape.

Elijah’s face twists, pain-agony-shame-pleasure all fleeting but _present,_ just for a split second, and that’s why Orlando never takes Elijah any way but this, on his back and helpless, his every expression like an open book and Orlando the one turning the pages.

“Master,” Elijah finally whispers, soft as if he can keep himself from hearing it, ears burning red and body releasing, unwinding just in time for Orlando to catch him.

Orlando shifts forward, tilting Elijah’s hips for a carefully-aimed thrust, one that pushes past all of the boundaries Elijah’s body tries to introduce in defense and simply _owns._

“Slave,” he rumbles in return, and takes what is his.


End file.
